Springing with the punches

Springing with the punches

Springing with the punches

April 4, 2013Sam Allen

Warning this article contains explicit language on par with a restless and immature university student discontent with life and stressed out about school, work, muffins, drugs, cats n’ mice and the rise in fame of One-Direction. Reader discretion advised.

Sam Allen enjoying spring someplace else.

All I can think about is spring. I’m working on a video piece for the upcoming UAF Gay-Straight-Alliance Drag Show on Friday. I’ve done three interviews with people involved in the drag show and I still have one more later today. But it’s motherfucking spring outside. On my way up to the Bunnell building last morning there was a huge sheet of ice an inch thick on the sidewalk. I was like, “Man, that’s never gonna thaw.” Then on my way down later that afternoon I was like, “Man, that completely thawed.” Then on my way up to Bunnell this morning I was like, “Ahh man, it refroze. I’m spring’s bitch.”

Spring leads you on, it’s like a cat-and-mouse game, but you know you’re eventually gonna get the cheese, or the mouse, or whatever you’re after. Spring is inevitable, but it certainly pretends like it’s not. Chasing a story can be like a cat-and-mouse game, but having a good story at the end is not inevitable. The thing about journalism is as soon as you get a story, you’re already behind. As soon as you finish a story, you should be halfway done with your next two. I’m sure One Direction feels the same way about writing songs.

Procrastination will rip your grades to shreds and tear up any hope you had in humanity, and your story will reflect that of a blank page splattered in coffee, sweat, and muffin crumbs; all of which could have been avoided, save the muffin crumbs.

Ideally, you could do a story in ten minutes from your bed with a cellphone, but the only way that would work is if everyone you call answers, people randomly give you photographs to use no questions asked, the stars align above Jupiter, people share things they wouldn’t even tell their best friend, you actually have minutes on your phone and the story happens three feet from your bed.

Alas reality sets in. You get out of each story what you put into it, spring is here, avoiding muffin crumbs is impossible, and the one time a story happens three feet from your bed, you’ll be at a One Direction concert.